After the Storm
by OblinaJayne
Summary: A follow-on from "Lightning"; Hermione is set to marry Ron Weasley. Draco Malfoy lurks in the shadows. The Wizarding world may be at peace but some of the survivors do not have all their pieces together. Will the only Malfoy heir continue to perpetuate his Pure-blood legacy? Will Hermione and Ron have their Happily-Ever-After? Or is there still lightning in the air? M for later
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hi everyone! This is a segmented time-line sorta-style sequel to my one-shot "Lightning" published a few months ago. I am still in the process of writing it but I have what I feel will be the majority written out. I thought I may as well post a chapter to see how y'all react to it.  
As per "Lightning" I am trying to keep this relatively inline with canon. Obviously with the up-coming release of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child things will deviate. BUT basically it aims to fit along mostly with what we know from the books, with my spin of course.  
So here it is. There is adult language used in this chapter and throughout the story; consider yourself warned. Adult themes are on the way also.

Also, I really do appreciate positive or constructive reviews; no flamers please. If you don't like the topics or scenarios, don't read it.  
Otherwise; enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own rights to any of these known characters, stories or songs. These have been borrowed to bring to life the stories that they have inspired in my imagination.

* * *

 **2004**

The day was shaping up perfectly thanks to a cool change in weather, hinting at a mild autumn to come. The mid-morning sunshine illuminated the lush green grass surrounded by trees bursting with flowers and vines laden with fruit. Hermione Granger was still, standing by the window of her lush suite, watching as the final preparations for the day were made to the house lawn and gardens of the vineyard. As she watched, a silver fox darted from behind a nearby shrub, making towards the safety of the nearby woods. It stopped briefly, turning its head back towards the hollow it had abandoned, before setting off in search of new shelter. The vineyard belonged to the Diggory family, who had graciously offered to host the festivities. Hermione's stomach knotted around a stab of guilt as she reflected on the family's generosity, considering their only child was long since lost to them. They would never be able to host of something like this for him.

The old manor that had once housed the original lords of the area had been converted to a stunning guest house and function hall, catering to the magical communities of Devon and the greater South Western area. The location was also incredibly convenient; the family home of Hermione's soon to be husband was located only a few fields and a farm track away. Though she did hope that her betrothed would not be traipsing through the long grass in his new robes.

Hermione's brow furrowed as she thought of her red-headed beau. Their relationship had been far from smooth sailing, but things were beginning to fall into place. Ever since Hermione had returned from her Australian sabbatical earlier this year, their lives seemed to flow and fit together better. She was thankful that he had finally a career path that he was satisfied with. Upon her return from Down Under, he had surprised her with the news that he had resigned from the Auror office after a two year stint, sighting that the stress was not good for his mental health. Instead he had decided to return to his brother's side as co-manager of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The change was certainly better than a holiday for him, and the two brothers continued to grow their company exponentially. Ron's magical skills certainly were improving each week thanks to George's influence.

Hermione felt more at peace than she had in a long time. But the nervous jitters were pervasive. She didn't have cold feet, per se, but Hermione Granger's mind held onto faint disquiet hinting that things would not always be this easy. She had overcome her fair share of hardships, even in her 25 years; however it was hard to not be caught off guard ever so often. A knock at the door cut though her train of thought. Her mother walked into the room carrying a bunch of white rose buds.

"Darling, these just arrived for you," Mrs Granger announced as she entered the room. "My goodness you look beautiful." She added, admiring her daughter dressed in her ivory form fitting wedding gown completed with a flowing pale-golden tulle mermaid skirt. "Oh Hermione, I am so happy for you." Hermione's recently reacquainted mother smiled genuinely at her daughter. Hermione struggled to express the joy she felt now that her parents were back in her life after a long, magically induced, absence. They had kept their distance at first, but their relationship with their daughter was back on track. She felt that the excitement of their only child's wedding had helped seal their acceptance.

Hermione's bridal party, consisting of Ginny Potter, Luna Lovegood and Fleur Weasely, surged through the open door. The three witches looked stunning in their scarlet off-the-shoulder tea-length dresses with golden lace overlay on the skirt. Hermione was pleased with her choice.

"Who sent you the flowers 'Mione?" Asked the ever curious Ginny.

"I-I don't know," stuttered Hermione, reaching for the card her mother held out to her.

 _Hermione,  
_ _I wish you the best today.  
_ _I am thinking of you,  
_ _Always.  
_ _X_

 _Fuck_. Hermione gaped at the parchment in her hands. It had been eight months since she had spoken to her secret admirer. How did he know that she was getting married today? How did he know where she would be? Of course that horrid Rita Skeeter would be to blame for most of this. The awful journalist's near stalking tendencies towards the Golden Trio had increased of late. Hermione reminded herself for such frivolous details to be considered news it indicated that the affairs of the magical world were peaceful.

"Well 'Ermione, 'oo sent you ze roses?" Asked Fleur, her accent had not lessened despite the years that she had spent residing in the UK.

"They are from an old friend," the bride said, conjuring a vase to host the array before finally taking them from her mother. The instant her hands touched the flowers, the once pristine white buds blossomed into stunning cobalt blue roses. A chorus of appreciative sounds followed as the women admired the magical display.

"Krumm. They are from Viktor Krumm," she added, blushing. The cover story sprung forward before much thought, Hermione hoped that her friends would not smell a rat.

"Viktor was so very sad that 'ee could not be 'ere today, 'Ermione. 'Ow lovely of 'im," Fleur gushed.

"How lovely." Cooed Ginny as she rested her hands on her growing belly subconsciously. She chuckled at the thought of her play-boy former sporting opponent making such a sweet gesture. Hermione smiled at her friend, thoughts of the niece or nephew that was growing inside of her soon to be sister in law flooded her heart. Hermione had been long been considered a part of family she was about to join officially. This is who she belonged with. These were her people.

But still, memories of the night spent with true floral benefactor crept into Hermione's consciousness. The disquiet was growing louder. The thought thankfully did not have much of a chance to fester as young Victoire Weasley, adorable in her golden flower girl tutu ensemble, entered the room to inform the bridal party that the guests were all seated. The show was about to begin. Hermione focused her mind on the man waiting for her at the end of the aisle she was about to descend.

The other women followed Victoire to the foyer by the door to the gardens, but Luna remained behind, loitering by the flowers. "These smell devine. What a beautiful display of _Magirosa splendosa_. Such a rare species. It was very thoughtful of Mr Krumm, but also a peculiar colour choice." Luna hummed.

"What do you mean Luna?" Probed the nervous bride.

"Oh nothing really… But blue roses have been thought represent an unattainable or impossible love," she noted in her wispy ethereal tone before exiting to join the others.

Hermione's heart sunk slightly. Draco Malfoy was an extremely intelligent wizard. In addition to the numerous rivalries he represented during their school years, he had also been one of the few that Hermione had considered to be an intellectual counterpart while at Hogwarts. Not that she would have ever admitted that at the time. She knew that this had not been a coincidence.

Hermione shook her head, she had no time to deal with this today. Three deep, calming breaths later, Hermione was standing with the rest of the bridal party, the butterflies that had been in her gut were now the size of hippogriffs. Through the doors she could hear the low commotion from the crowd in the garden but then there was a subtle tap of wood on wood. The music started, the murmuring of the guests died down in response. The group of people assembled in their planned order.

The show must go on.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey guys, here is chapter 2. Thanks for the follows already! I will be slower with updates but I was debating whether or not to post what I have so far as one or two chapters, so I went with the middle-ground and decided to post as 2 separate chapters but in quick succession.  
I have been heavily influenced by the music I have listened to while dreaming this up and subsequently writing it down. If you want any playlist/suggestions just let me know :)

 **Disclaimer:** as always, anything recognizable does not belong to me.

Enjoy and please review :)

* * *

 **200** **4**

A cool breeze whispered though the hedgerows at the perimeter of Malfoy Manor, briefly chasing away some of the mid-morning heat. A sleek silver fox skulked out of the nearby wooded area. It trotted towards the gates to the regal estate and slipped between the iron bars. However the fox never made it into the property as it was replaced by a certain platinum blond man.

Draco Malfoy plucked a stray leaf from his tousled hair, a souvenir of his venture through the woods, before heading into his family home. He grimaced as he noted the buzz of activity within its stately walls. What had possessed him to consent for his home to host the nuptials of his dear friends Blaise and Pansy was lost to him in this moment. He had hoped to have a chance to digest at least some of his tumultuous thoughts, inspired by his earlier activities, before the manor became truly chaotic.

Sighing, Draco stole towards his chambers before anyone spotted him tried to rope him into helping the inevitable someone with something. Once in the sanctity of his room, Draco flopped onto his bed. He causally waved his wand in the direction of his study though the open double doors, filling both rooms with the gritty, melancholic tones of The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. Draco ran his hands roughly over his face trying to stop the thoughts that threatened to engulf him. Distracting thoughts. Thoughts of _her_.

To say that he had never considered Hermione Granger to be a filthy mudblood; the scum that his family had long believed all witches and wizards that had come from non-magical families were by default, would be a lie. Had he truly felt that way all along? He did not even know how to answer that question. Had he secretly noticed her sweet smile and killer intellectual bite, from the first moment they interacted? He would never dared to say it aloud at the time, but yes. Was this complicated further by watching her blossom in to the formidably intelligent and stunningly beautiful witch she was today? You bet.

He had often thought, during his years buying into the idiocy that the Dark Lord had stood for, that it was such a shame that she was a muggle born witch. She was enchanting, and already a force to be reckoned with after only a short exposure to the magical world. But she represented everything he was trained to hate, to demonise, to exterminate. He told absolutely no one of these notions, and he did quite a convincing job at making her, and everyone else, think he loathed her. By the time he saw the light and made up his own mind about his beliefs and what he stood for, their relationship was well and truly corrupted by his actions.

Or so he had thought. It just so happened that just over half a year ago, Draco Malfoy had done something he would never have imagined would happen; he had spent a night shagging Hermione Granger most fervently. He could not get her out of his mind. He knew that she was already spoken for; by his third cousin once removed, no less. He was remorseful for coercing her into his bed, not that it had taken much effort, and for doing so despite knowing that she was already involved. But she consented. She seemed to enjoy herself, almost as if she needed to feel the release of doing something different to what was expected of her, something for her. And it had been mind-blowing.

The way that she had left things; a short note on the side table, was not exactly what Draco would have wanted, but he took the hint. He left her alone. But once he had read the announcement of their wedding date, and a few casual drinks with gossip-hungry peers to discover where the event was to be held, he knew he had to make some form of gesture. On the off chance that she wanted more than the Weasel-King had to offer, he wanted her to know that he was still thinking of her, that the night that had shared was more than a sleazy hook up. He had felt a genuine connection to her. They were equals on a lot of levels, more so than her and the red haired goon that she had agreed to marry.

Draco growled to himself, annoyed by his wallowing behaviour. He launched himself off of his bed, and into his private bathroom, hoping that a relaxing shower would help calm his frustrations. He stood beneath the warm spray for what felt like hours, focusing on nothing but his music and the sensation of the water hitting his strong and willowy Seekers body.

He emerged what was actually twenty minutes later, with a towel tucked loosely around his waist and ventured across his bedroom but stopped dead halfway, confused by the addition to his quarters.

By the record player that was supplying the room with music, stood a slender young woman. She was dressed in a sophisticated forest green Grecian styled cocktail dress, the light from Draco's full length study window glinting off of the crystals on her silvery stilettos and the matching detail on her waist. Her dark ashy blonde tresses were swept into an elegant braided bun. For a moment Draco's heart stopped; from his so far unnoticed vantage point this woman bore an uncanny resemblance to the woman he was trying to exorcise from his consciousness.

Perhaps due to his masochistic tendances, Draco hesitated to discover who exactly it was that had started to sway seductively to his latest favourite song. He wanted to hold on to the fantasy that _she_ had come to him. Draco ran his fingers though his damp locks, chasing away that thought. Instead of living in fantasy, he silently crept up behind the woman, who still had not registered his presence. He left only a foot of distance between them before he spoke.

"May I help you?" He asked the guest curtly.

Her head snapped around as she took a step back from him staring at him with widened sultry blue eyes and a ruddiness creeping across her otherwise porcelain skin. Astoria Greengrass looked positively stunning in her bridesmaid attire, but thankfully the resemblance to Draco's former lover was less apparent now. Her long, narrow face had an aristocratic feel to it; she had thin pretty lips, a slender nose that pointed up slightly at the tip, dainty cheekbones and brows that arched wickedly, hinting at a mischievous streak. Whilst she was indeed a pleasure to look at, Astoria's features were distinctively cooler compared to the features of the witch Draco had been thinking of previously.

"For Salazar's sake Draco! I nearly had a heart attack!" She said when she had finally found her voice. He glowered at her causing the blush to creep down her cheeks towards her ears and neck.

"Well, I wasn't exactly expecting to be hosting guests in my private quarters at this moment." He retorted, gesturing to his current attire, or lack thereof. She relaxed at the appearance of his trademark smirk and took advantage of the opportunity to let her eyes roam over his naked chest.

He noticed her eyes lingering over his exposed flesh and Draco suddenly felt uncharacteristically self-conscious. He cleared his throat before adding; "well, I had best get dressed and go check on the man of the hour."

"Good idea," she muttered, her cheeks still slightly flushed. She headed to the door, stopping at the door frame for a moment; "I look forward to having you escort me down the aisle soon Draco." She added before sashaying in the direction of the suite in which Pansy had established as her headquarters for bridal preparation.

 _Later that evening…_

Draco was enjoying a drink with his old friend; the newly wedded Blaise Zabini. The ceremony that afternoon had gone ahead without a hitch, for which both men were thankful. Unsurprisingly to those who knew her, Pansy had proved to be more than a bit of a diva when things did not go accordingly with all things nuptial. Her poor bridesmaids; Millicent Goyle, nee Bulstrode, along with Astoria and Daphne Greengrass had unfortunately bore the brunt of Pansy's near tantrums, but now all three women were sufficiently tipsy whilst the bride was jubilantly drunk on both alcohol and happiness. It was shaping up to be quite a party; it was the just the type of release and distraction Draco needed right now.

Draco remained seated as Blaise headed to the dance floor, his wife beckoning him over with a wave of her finger. Draco chuckled and poured himself more wine. He watched as Pansy threw herself at her beloved. Taking a long swallow of the dark liquid, he attempted to drown the pang of jealousy inspired by the happy couple. He was so engrossed in watching them that he did not notice that someone had slithered into the recently vacated seat next to him.

"They really are quite disgustingly cute, don't you agree?" Queried Astoria as she placed a glass of the whiskey Blaise had insisted on purchasing for the evening, in front of Draco, taking a sip from her own tumbler as she did so. Draco was impressed by her choice; he had pegged her for more a champagne or vodka-on-the-rocks drinker.

He chuckled again, but he did agree with her. "Do you remember them in school? I mean, Pansy and I had our trysts, but I knew that Blaise was always the one she wanted to be with. They were so insufferable when they finally got over themselves and started seeing each other. It's nice to see that passion lives on even still."

"It is true, they are the couple no one would ever admit to wanting to be like. So loved up it is almost gag worthy." She replied, folding one leg on top of the other as she settled into her seat.

"Well that is just a bit bitter, if you ask me." Draco retorted playfully over the rim of his drink.

"What? Can't a recently dumped woman be a little bit jealous of her happy best friend?" She shot back with a fiery sassiness.

Draco had heard all about her not so secret affair with an Irish Quidditch star. She had been his number one lady for the last two years and the gossip channels had all been quivering at the scent of a glamourous wedding for the two of them in the near future. Sadly for Astoria, instead of revealing the ring or jewellery store he was to buy it from, Padma Patil's breakthrough exposé for the _Daily Prophet_ had reported his favourite spots to meet up with his ladies of numbers two through eight.

It had been a very publicly embarrassing time for Astoria. She had become extremely reclusive since, but Draco was impressed by how together she appeared to be tonight. The snide, sarcastic remarks were quintessentially Astoria; it was good to see her back to her old self.

"So I heard that you spent the last year in Australia," Astoria said, striking up a new train of conversation.

"Indeed I did," he replied, "and I see you're back to your bluntly sardonic self." He added in way of a compliment to her togetherness.

"Yes, well, there is no use moping over things you cannot change." She replied, taking a long draw from her glass. "Besides, fuck holding onto a broken heart."

"Too fucking true my dear," Draco tipped her glass to her in salute before draining its contents.

The song that had been playing, the latest hit from the Weird Sisters, faded out and was followed by the thick, hypnotising base intro to a song that had played in Draco's room earlier that day.

Astoria gasped with excitement, "Pansy let me help with the music selection," she said by way of explanation, "I love this song!" She exclaimed, grabbing Draco's hand and leading him towards the dancefloor.

Draco raised an eyebrow in bemusement; he had never expected Astoria to be so involved in muggle culture. Her family were a proud part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and were Slytherin to the core. Although her parents had not been directly associated with the Dark Lord nor initiated as Death Eaters, they did still have a prejudiced view on the world. Daphne had always been incredibly stuck in the old ways at school and Astoria had always looked up to her older sister. He did not know for sure, but Draco pondered that she too had changed her outlook following the atrocities they had all witnessed be committed in the name of blood purity.

Astoria began swaying her body rhythmically to the music. Draco hesitated, well aware that his mother was in attendance tonight and had been wanting to set him up with a witch of Astoria's pedigree for some time now. At least she had a good taste in music, he could do a lot worse. He caught her by the waist and swayed with her for a moment. As she twirled to face him, he took her hand and led her in a comfortable, sensual jive. He thanked his upbringing for one thing, and that was the forced dance lessons; whilst a tradition held in the muggle world as well as the wizarding world, the Malfoy's had long enjoyed any reason to show off their skills on the dance floor. Their ancestors had even invited muggles to join them on the very floor he happened to be gliding along. Of course that had been before the Statute of Secrecy.

He lifted Astoria by her petite waist, spinning them both, before twirling her once and allowing her to fall ever so briefly, only to catch her in a move called, rather aptly, the Seducer. Her eyes were wide again, like earlier in his room, and her pupils dilated with adrenalin and attraction. They held their position, with him looking down at her face as she was perched precariously in his arms, possibly a beat too long as the song faded. Pansy's father's voice announced that the newlyweds were departing. Draco restored Astoria to a standing position, placing a chaste kiss on the hand he still held. She was flushed from the dancing, but the colour crept further across her face. He was hoping to bid her goodnight and retreat to his room, lest anyone catch them together and have Astoria's romantic life back in the papers. No one in this community could keep their mouth shut these days.

Astoria had other plans, however. Once again she led Draco by the hand outside into the formal gardens. She let go of his hand and strolled ahead, winding her way along the twisting path within the field of peony's marking the end of the formal courtyard at the rear of manor. The moonlight cast an ethereal glow over her pale skin and glittered in her eyes when she turned back to him.

"Your home is so beautiful, Draco. Do you remember when we were younger and Daphne and I would come over for your birthday parties? That was always my favourite part of summer. The gardens were alive with colour and the smell of these flowers." She said, bending down to smell the closest blossom. Draco caught up to her, plucking a similar bloom from a different bush. He sniffed it, breathing in the scent that he had always associated with the feeling of love, in all its embodiments.

"I cherish those days; the freedom of childhood, before all the responsibilities came flooding in. Before the poison of our upbringing took hold and we witnessed how truly fucked up our parent's ideologies were." A large sigh left his chest, reflecting on all the things he had experienced since those summer days.

Astoria placed a hand on his arm. "Our families, they only taught us what they knew. The bullshit river unfortunately runs deeper than their generation. But for me, at least, the tides will turn from here on in. We have a chance to make a difference with what we do with our lives." She said staring deep into his eyes.

The wind picked up, filling the air with a mixture of floral notes, heavy with peony. He gently tucked a stray strand of Astoria's hair behind her ear, securing it with the peony he had been holding. She reached up to press his hand against her cheek, her intense azure gaze still fixated on his silver-grey counterpart.

"You are a world apart from everything we once knew, Astoria, in the best possible way," Draco said, stepping forward to close the space between them and caught her lips in a passionate kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hey peeps! I have another chapter ready to go :) I have to get back to the grind tomorrow (Tuesday = my Monday) so I may not post for a few days or so...  
Disclaimer: _I own only my imagination_.

Enjoy, and please review ;P

* * *

 **2005**

Hermione Weasley had been working hard. She had climbed the proverbial ladder at a fast pace. She had made her mark within the Ministry by successfully instating new legislations awarding House Elves more rights thus fulfilling the mission she had started by creating _S.P.E.W_. in her formative years at Hogwarts. The department of Magical Law Enforcement had since poached her, which had been a hard move from a department Hermione was very passionate about. But it did mean she was closer to Harry, and there was a greater need for her skills and experience in her new role.

There was now talk of further promotion for Hermione, thanks to all the effort she had made, and the late nights she had spent in the office. After returning from her honeymoon, Hermione seemed more driven than ever. Most of her peers had wagered that she would be wanting to spend more time at home now that she and Ron were married, but since returning from their jaunt around Europe and Morroco, Ron had become obsessed with bringing the wonders of Weasleys' Wizard Wheeze to the magical children of these countries. He and George were now working on opening stores in the main magical hubs of Western Europe, with hope that this would only be the start of expansion.

Hermione was incredibly happy to see her husband flourish. The busier he was, the less time he had to dwell on the nightmarish memories that would still creep in from time to time. Their life was hectic, with his frequent trips away to attend to the growing business. But they seemed to make it work. She stretched as she rolled over to look at the clock. It was early, the time she would normally wake for work, but today she did not have to be up. The bright spring sunlight heralded what was to be a beautiful day, a stark contrast for the Day of Mourning recognised by the European Wizarding World. For today was May second, marking the seventh anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

Ron grunted in his sleep behind Hermione. They would be heading to Godric's Hollow later that day to be with Harry and Ginny before joining the extended Weasley family and all their friends that had been involved with that day of horrors at the Burrow. She knew that it was hard for Ron to be around people on this day, but it was better to get him out of the house rather than letting him drink the day away with a bottle of fire whiskey. Despite the progress he was making and how well he was coping, each year the second of May still took a hefty toll on Ron's psyche.

Hermione's stomach churned with anxiety and hunger. She decided that tea and toast was a better idea than trying to lay still in bed. While waiting for the kettle to boil, Hermione looked down at the quiet street below her. The sizeable apartment that she owned with Ron was situated within what was once Knockturn Alley; after the war, the entire district had been cleaned out of the dark artefacts and the people that had once dealt them. Harry had thoroughly enjoyed his part in the process; the Auror office had played a crucial role in clearing out the leftover curses and dark magic in the area. Since then Knockturn Alley had been developed into a residential area for the magical community. With Ron's business headquarters within strolling distance, and the Ministry only a few streets away, it made perfect sense for the young couple to invest in the area.

The street was quiet, but the black ribbons of remembrance had already been draped all over. She looked down at the sea of black silk as her gut roiled uncomfortably. Hermione breathed deeply, trying to stop anxiety from taking over. The smell of burnt toast filled her nose and whilst not an overly unpleasant smell, today it did not agree with Hermione at all. She was hit with a sudden wave of nausea, barely making it to the guest bath in time to expel to contents of her stomach into the toilet. Between bout two and three Hermione searched within the draws for a hair tie, stopping when she found something disconcerting. She had a stash of unopened tampons here, but seeing them caused realisation to shoot through her.

Once there was nothing left in her system to purge, she cast a quick _Scourgify_ over herself before throwing on some clothes and apparating to the alleyway beside the local day and night grocer. She ducked in trying to avoid the gaze of the other early morning shoppers. She quickly grabbed a bottle of apple juice and the items she needed, before slinking back into the alley to apparate home.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, Hermione skulled the juice. When she was full to the point of bursting, Hermione removed all four different plastic devices from their packaging and supplied them with the required sample.

Five nerve-rattling minutes later Hermione had the answer. She was pregnant. About two months along if the device claiming to be superiorly accurate was to be believed. Her mind had seized. She was at a very precarious time in her career and Ron was home less and less these days. Was this really the best time to bring a child into the mix?

They had not explicitly been attempting to conceive, but they had consciously ceased actively trying not to. Hermione's mind filled with thoughts of her young niblings, especially James, Fred II and Roxanne and how much she loved them. Seeing her friends-come-family with their young children did inspire a pang of maternal envy for Hermione.

But Hermione was not one to set off on a venture like this without thinking through all the details. Ron was a fantastic uncle and he did love children, but was he ready to be a father? Hermione sighed to herself as she thought that the news might very well distract Ron from falling into such a dark depression this year. Or at least she hoped it would.

Hermione crept back into the kitchen for a second attempt at tea, not wanting to risk the toast this time. She was met by a large pair of yellow eyes waiting for her at the kitchen window. She paid the delivery owl and unfurled the morning addition of the _Daily Prophet_. The front page was, for once, a well written piece remembering the lives that were lost seven years ago. She scoffed reading the by line; Neville Longbottom had penned the front page story. Of course none of the usual contributors would be able to produce something so accurate and beautiful. A tear rolled down her cheek thinking of Neville and the integral role he had played in the war. He was doing well for himself too, taking over the Herbology department at Hogwarts, sowing the passion for magical botanicals in the minds of the next generation.

Wiping her eyes, Hermione flicked through the tributes and memorials in search of the daily funny. However, on her way to that section of the paper, an article in the gossip section happened to catch her eye. A familiar dapper face stared back at her as he wound an arm around the woman beside him, before swooping her into a Clark Gable-esque kiss. Draco Malfoy was engaged. To Astoria Greengrass; a Slytherin Pure-Blood. Hermione could only imagine the glee felt by his parents at the match. Hermione's heart sank slightly, but she mentally slapped herself. There is no way that they would have ever worked. But she thought back to her wedding, only nine months ago; the flowers he had sent her and the hidden meaning that Luna had read from his choice in colour.

"Oh wow, the Ferret has finally convinced someone to marry him," said a voice over Hermione's shoulder, snapping her from her illicit thoughts. "Poor Astoria, I thought she was actually half-decent for a Slytherin. Dad said she was doing well at work, quite the aficionado with Muggle cameras and stuff." Ron placed a kiss on his wife's head before ambling into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast.

Hermione stared after him. He was in a better mood than expected this morning; perhaps he had turned a leaf and was able to cope. Or perhaps he just hadn't realised what the date was. She needed to tell him the news.

His sigh pierced her monologue. "I really wish they didn't make today such a sorrowful day. I know Fred would have wanted us to focus on the fact that we won the war."

"Ron, I have something to tell you," Hermione started, hoping to keep his mood positive. She left the table, heading to him and taking one of his large freckled hands in her delicate grasp.

"What is it 'Mione?" He looked puzzled.

She realised that her face was still creased with worry. She smoothed it, hopping her smile looked sincere. "You know how gorgeous little James is? And you know how we were talking about maybe starting our own family soon?" She said by way of testing the water.

His brow furrowed. He wasn't quite catching on with where she was going with this. She placed his palm over her abdomen. "Well, there's no time to do so like now, right?" She said, beaming as gleeful realisation rushed across Ron's face.

He gathered her into his arms, kissing her on the lips. "I can't wait to tell Harry!" He exclaimed.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the follows and reviews! My apologies for the prolonged wait; I hope you still are eager for more!  
Guest: regarding Astoria; Draco doesn't think that she and Astoria are similar per se, but he does have the odd Freudian slip. I think this chapter will shed more light there.  
Hug a bell: I do apologise, but please be patient. This is listed as a Dramonie for a reason ;)

 **Disclaimer:** _I own nothing you recognise._

As always, enjoy and please review!

* * *

 **2005**

Draco paced the floor of his bedroom. He was nervous as fuck. He wasn't exactly sure why, but he felt it had something to do with the muggle press photo shoot he was about to attend. Today he was to marry Astoria Greengrass, but the muggle community believed that the up-and-coming actor Amy Gerard was marrying muggle Daniel Mathieu. Why Astoria's agent had decided that it was pertinent to have these pictures taken today was lost to Draco. Surely it could have waited until after they had actually married. But alas, Seamus Finnigan, the smarmy Gryffindor bastard, had insisted the images would not be authentic if done post the event.

The manor was chaotic. Not only were the nuptials taking place here but his father had only recently been discharged from St Mungo's on a permanent basis. He and Narcissa were in the middle of relocating to their country villa in France, allowing the manor to pass to their son and his new wife, as per Malfoy tradition.

Draco stared at his quivering hands. This was not like him, he was not usually phased by such trivial nonsense. However he was concerned that this was not the best move. Astoria had dreams larger than what Draco aspired to. She wanted fame and glory; her stage name a household commodity. He, on the other hand, was content to carry on the family alchemy ventures from the comfort of the manor, leaving him with ample spare time to further his knowledge of the study of the human mind. His degree from UCL, awarded to his muggle identity, hung proudly over the mantle in his study, next to his honorary diploma in Psychological Healing from St Mungo's.

Astoria had stumbled into the acting pathway earlier in the year. As part of her role within the Ministry, she was assigned the task to deal with a possessed camera that was terrorising the crew on the set of a revival of a television series focusing on some doctor of sorts. Astoria had recently become infatuated with the original series. She had jumped at the opportunity to snoop around the set. She had accidentally stumbled onto set at one point and wowed the director with her impromptu monologue, and he had asked her to appear as an extra, with lines, on a few episodes. Apparently her run in with the magical paparazzi had not been enough to deter her from delving deeper into the life of muggle stardom.

Draco was concerned that he and Astoria were rushing things. They were happy together, and he did genuinely love her, but he still had an uneasy feeling that they were marrying for all the wrong reasons. Nothing like an unplanned child to instigate a rush wedding. Draco was surprisingly excited at the prospect of becoming a father, despite having celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday not quite a week ago. Astoria had been concerned at first, fearing her acting career would be over before it began, hence the desire for her to find an agent that would understand her back ground, as well as knowing the ins and outs of the muggle world. Together, Astoria and Seamus had hatched this bothersome publicity scheme that did not sit well on Draco's mind.

He sighed, deciding he should ready himself for what awaits. He searched for the record he had played almost a year ago now, on the day that he had found Astoria in his room moving with the beat. He thought it was only fitting. He dressed in his simple, well fitted black suit, leaving the coat open over a crisp white shirt buttoned only most of the way up. Astoria had wanted a feel of relaxed elegance today, always one for the understated beauty and shrugging off stodgy traditions. Draco loved this about her, their relationship had followed a similar theme.

Draco fussed with his hair, getting it to sit in the dapper side swept style Astoria adored. It was time to face the public. Making his way down to the hall he was stopped by his mother who was walking with his father towards the formal reception room. Malfoy Manor no longer housed any rooms that would be referred to as a drawing room.

"Darling! Draco, oh my darling boy," she hugged him close, almost squeezing the life out of him. To say that she was delighted by his choice in wife, and the grandchild on the way, was an understatement and a half. Astoria's blood status helped Draco's parents overlook her involvement within the muggle world. It saddened Draco to think that despite everything they had witnessed, his parents still clung to the idea of keeping the legacy of the Sacred Twenty Eight and ensuring the bloodlines remained pure.

He sighed deeply, calming his nerves. Hints of daffodils and peony filled his nose; the signature scent of his mother. She stepped back, looking into her son's handsome face. He reflected on how gracefully his mother had aged, looking not a day over fifty. Her hair, however, was more silver than silver blonde these days. His father, on the other hand, appeared to have lost the regal air he had once exuded effortlessly. His face warn and wrinkled from the terrors that ravaged his mind; memories of the unspeakable things he had witnessed and implemented during his time at the service of the Dark Lord. Lucius was reserved these days, spending most of his time engrossed in books, trying to mend the sanity he had nearly lost.

"Darling, Astoria does not want you to see her until the ceremony," Narcissa continued, "something about some silly muggle tradition, I don't really understand it. But she wants you to wait here.

"Mother, I don't understand. I thought the whole idea of this scheme was for us to be photographed together." Replied Draco, desperately trying to stop his mood from souring.

Narcissa could tell her son was losing his patience, and although she did not approve of the attention of the muggle media, she secretly loved being in the limelight for something other than being the wife of a reformed Death Eater. "Well, sweetheart, that Finnigan fellow has it all thought out. Just wait here, Blaise will come fetch you when they are ready."

And so Draco waited by the granite serpent bust, staring absently at the glittering emerald scales. A flicker along some of the gems caught his eyes and he focused harder at the statue. The emeralds over the bust seemed to almost resonate with warmth before glowing scarlet red for a moment. Then nothing. Draco shook his head, turning away from the statue. He was relieved when only a few minutes later, Blaise Zabini appeared at the top of the nearby staircase.

Blaise caught site of his friend and marched towards him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Alright mate, it's my turn to marry you off. But first that ruddy Gryffin-dick wants to take some wanky pictures with you and Astoria, but not actually together. Fuck I really don't get these muggle traditions." Blaise led Draco down the main stairs into the foyer. The aforementioned wizard intercepted the two dapperly dressed Slytherins on the last step.

"Alright Malfoy, I need you over by the archway over there" Seamus directed, gesturing towards the wall of the formal lounge. "Dennis, you ready man?"

A lanky, scraggly haired man with matching dirty blond stubble popped his head through the arch. Draco placed the bugging eyes to a formally plump face, Dennis Creevey was now almost gaunt. He was dressed in an eclectic mix of paisley and distressed denim, the look completed with an unnecessary hound's-tooth scarf and a faded burgundy drivers cap.

Dennis had Draco lean against the wall, just near the archway leading into the room where Astoria sat. Draco could smell her perfume; a mixture of lilacs and lemon balm. But he did not catch a glimpse of her, the pack of prats made sure of that. After forty minutes of dusky lighting, flashing bulbs and pulling some of the most ridiculous faces, Draco was standing in the shade of the grand old oak tree taking pride of place behind a row of peonies. He was nervous still, the crowd gathering around him making him fidget. But soon Astoria would be walking towards him and things would be better. Draco hated being in the spotlight, but Astoria flourished there. He hoped that she would take to focus soon.

A harp player had been strumming calming tunes, but now a quartet chimed in. Draco knew the Astoria would not be far away. He peered at the hedgerow that barricaded the rear doors of the Manor from view. Pansy and Blaise Zabini were the first down the aisle, followed by Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott. And then there she was, a sight to behold in a simple silvery white satin gown with just a hint of sparkle. A strategically placed material bow over Astoria's midsection hid the bump that had only just started protruding. Her long, proud face hidden by frothy material, but Draco could tell that she was glowing, with happiness and possibly some pregnant influences too.

She reached him at the tree, lifting the lace that had been obscuring her features and for a second Draco could have sworn that her normally cool sapphire coloured eyes were a familiar deep warming brown. He blinked, hoping no one see the brief falter. Astoria looked up at him with eyes that were definitely blue. He held her hands with a tender firmness.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hullo fellow fan-fictioners! Here is the next installment of _After the Storm_. Please do remember to review :)

 **Disclaimer:** You know how it goes... ;)

* * *

 **2005**

Hermione Weasley sat in the Leaky Cauldron enjoying a light lunch, reading through the agenda for a meeting later that day. Normally she would be doing this over a sandwich at her desk, but she had an undeniable craving for Hannah Abbott-Longbottom's apple pie, she could not ignore it. Besides she was eating for two now.

A gust of wind swirled across the table rustling from the papers in front of Hermione. She looked up as the door leading towards Diagon Alley fluttered closed. Hannah buzzed over to Hermione's table, collecting the dishes as the two witches chatted. Over Hannah's shoulder Hermione caught a glimpse of a familiar head of white blond hair. Her heart skipped a beat. He sat over in the corner furthest from Hermione, facing out the window looking out to the Muggle street beyond the tavern. For several moments Hermione debated with herself about going over to him. Images of brilliant blue rose blossoms invaded her thoughts. She stood, hesitating a moment longer before taking a deep breath and gathering her things. She turned on her heel and marched with purpose towards her destination.

"Hello Draco," Hermione murmured, slipping into the chair in front of the wizard she addressed. She hoped that she was not blushing as memories of the last time that they had been this close flashed through her mind.

Draco's head snapped up from the book he had been reading. He stared at her with disbelief, his brow knotted in confusion.

"Hullo Hermione, you are looking radiant," he replied uncertainly. He hoped to Salazar that this was truly her and not his mind playing games. None the less, his steely grey eyes had started drinking in the vision of the witch he had thought of often.

Moments of awkward silence passed as they stared at each other. The last time that this unlikely paring had been within touching distance of each other had involved a lot of touching. Now both parties had married; each to a partner with more suitability than they could have made for each other. The tension, of many kinds, was palpable. Hermione was the first to break the staring contest, but also the first to break the silence.

"Thank you for the lovely roses Draco," She said, not knowing where else to start conversation with him, after so long and so little communication, her face flushed once more. "They were incredibly beautiful." She met his eyes once more and was surprised to see the faintest hint of colour creeping along his fine, aristocratic features.

"I had always wondered if you did receive them. I was quite proud of that year's yield," he replied almost bashfully. He cleared his throat before adding, "I have been developing a few new strains of the _Magiflora_. Roses are the traditional, but I have had some luck with some others. The magic is rather intriguing…" he trailed off.

"You mean you have been using alchemy to alter the nature of a previously benign living organism and actually been successful in having it pass on the transformed characteristics?" Queried the impressed witch.

"Well, yes." Draco murmured, embarrassment setting in. "But the flowers, they are a hobby. I have made useful developments. My recent focus has centred on a range of new healing balms and lotions that I will be presenting to the Ministry and St. Mungo's today." His discomfiture was, in Hermione's opinion, unbefitting the skill he described.

The Malfoy family were long renowned for their wealth despite any disclosed means of attaining such. Draco had taken over the 'family business' involving real estate ventures (both Muggle and Magical), investments as well as collections of art and artefacts, to name a few. But his father, and most of the more powerful Malfoy's before him, had dubious involvements high up in the political stratosphere.

Despite his upbringing; all the history lessons before he could write a complete sentence, the indoctrination of blood purity and the incredibly inflated ego that came with being a Malfoy, Draco no longer desired to play part in all that. He was happy to lend his skills and talents to the Magical world, when fitting, as well as making donations to a worthy beneficiaries. But Draco did not skulk around doing shady deals with slimy bigots. The nightmarish time that he had witnessed during the Second Wizarding War was more than enough to _scourify_ that from his character.

However, not all aspects of the Malfoy family had been abandoned. Draco was a man of fine tastes and finances were required for such indulgences. He also had a family to support, with a new addition on the way, thus he required a way to maintain the kind of lifestyle he enjoyed; for current and future generations of Malfoys. Furthermore, the burning desire to cleanse the tenacious stigma now attached to his family name restoring at least some of its former glory and notoriety was a strong motivator for this Malfoy. Thus the reliance on his talents with the art of potion-making. The post-war upheaval of the Malfoy Manor had also proved very fruitful; Draco had stumbled across a vault of manuscripts regarding the mysteries of the ancient art of Alchemy. The long forgotten legacies of former Malfoys had been integral to much of Draco's success.

Despite his chosen work, Draco did not lament his years spent studying at Muggle universities. He had learnt about the race of people he had been taught to vilify, through a completely new filter. He was comforted, in the most cynical of ways, to learn that whole legions of Muggles in the past followed beliefs that were just as fucked up as what he had been raised on. He also developed a new understanding of biological and chemical systems, and has used these principles, in conjunction with his magical abilities, in his creative process.

"Draco, you are a very skilled wizard," Hermione offered, placing a hand on his arm. The gesture was second nature to the compassionate witch however the jolt that the two received on skin contact was foreign, but not unpleasant. He raised a blond eyebrow quizzically, a hint of his trademark smirk on his lips indicating he too felt it. She smiled innocently before removing her hand, but her face fell catching sight of her watch. It was time to head back to work.

"What on earth is that?" Draco queried, gesturing at the garish orange and purple monstrosity encircling her dainty wrist.

"What? Oh, my watch?" She replied, pulling at the sleeve of her cardigan to hide the offensive plastic contraption. "I keep breaking them and Ron had ordered a bulk batch of muggle watches for a new product line at the joke store, so I confiscated a heap before he and George got to them…"

"It clashes rather spectacularly with the professional grace you otherwise exude," He scoffed as he studied her subtly made-up face haloed by a few stray curly locks which had escaped a mostly sleek knot at the back of her head.

"Be that as it may, it keeps the time for me. Speaking of which, I really must start heading back to the Ministry." She said, raising from her seat. Draco's eyes widened as he noticed, for the first time, that Hermione's abdomen was protruding greatly under the high waistline of her dress. As she gathered her things she noticed that Draco remained seated, eyes fixed on her belly.

"It really is not polite to stare, Malfoy," Hermione taunted, as she fussed with her coat. Snapping out of his trance, Draco followed her lead in gathering his belongings.

"Well, I do apologise, but you are quite the poster witch for pregnant professionals. It also explains the glow of your skin." He said by way of diffusing the situation; hoping that she was unaware of his heart breaking ever so slightly. It was incredibly inappropriate for him to be jealous of Weasley getting his own wife pregnant, but, Salazar help him, he was. The bloody Weasel-King did not know how lucky he was. He never had, and likely never would. It was maddening. But Draco had his own wife and new-born to concern himself with. At least, after everything, the two appeared to have a shot at being unlikely friends.

"Shall we walk together," Draco offered. "I would never want you to carry all that paperwork in your condition." He teased.

"Oh Merlin, don't be a prat," She jibed, swatting him lightly on the arm. "I do hope the meeting goes well for you."

"Hmm, oh thank you," he replied as he held the door to the street open for her. Pregnancy had given new life to her curves, in the most pleasing of ways, Draco could not help but be distracted momentarily. "I am confident that they will appreciate my latest creations. Astoria swears by my healing balm, it's doing wonders for her stretch marks – she's tried all the Muggle remedies she could find."

"Oh I heard that congratulations were in order for you two," She offered with a wide smile. "A boy, so I have heard?"

"Indeed, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy was born on Halloween," Draco said, proudly puffing out his chest, making Hermione chuckle.

"To think, we will likely have children at Hogwarts together." She mused, a hand cradling her rounded belly.

"At least I know that my son will be raised differently to myself. If he dare treat your little one anything like the immense bigot I was to you, I will be sending howlers." His mood darkened at the thought, his walking companion pulled her jacket closer against the wind as it picked up. She bit her lip, unsure what to say to his comment. He stopped, turning to her, and placed a hand on her arm, to which she smiled weakly. She blushed crimson for a moment at the raw emotion she saw in his steely eyes.

"I am sincerely and immeasurably sorry for everything I ever said and did to you back then. I promise that I will raise my child to respect all people, magical or not. Astoria and I have both vowed to never propagate the fucking bullshit we were both brain washed to believe."

Hermione slowed her pace momentarily as she studied him closely.

"T-thank you, Draco," She half-whispered. "I did wonder about that actually. I mean, that year we, erm, _met up,_ in Australia, I had seen that you had changed, radically. But, to be honest, I had thought, or feared rather, that it had been a phase, at least for the most part…" She chewed her lip as she waited for his reply. The clicking of Hermione's court shoes was audible as the pair rounded the corner leading towards the guest entrance for the Ministry.

Draco hesitated by the bright red phone box, watching as Hermione mulled over what next to say. She was concerned, of all things, that she had insulted him. He cleared his throat before giving her the first genuine smile she had ever witnessed from him while sober.

"If roles had been reversed, I would be thinking the same thing. But rest assured, the Malfoy generations to come shall be nothing like the ones I have known. I promise you that Hermione." The sincerity of his words was written on his face. Hermione blushed more spectacularly this time, adding to the radiance of her pregnancy flush. Draco wanted nothing more to scoop her into his arms and feel the softness of her glowing peachy skin.

As if sensing the inappropriateness of the current situation, Hermione wished Draco an awkward yet friendly good-bye before heading to the staff entrance. Draco mentally kicked himself for speaking so candidly, however he was relieved for her to know that remained a changed man. A man different from the boy who taunted. A man she no longer need despise. A man that could potentially be called a friend. He hoped that would be enough for him.

* * *

A/N: I know this is only a taste, but there is method behind my cruelty.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hello lovely Dramonie-shippers! This next chapter continues as the next day after the previous chapter. Enjoy :)

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plot.

* * *

 **2005**

 _The next day -_

Hermione was not impressed. Her day had started with a shocking bout of morning sickness that almost had her stay home, a rarity even when days like had become more than common place for her. This pregnancy thing was not sitting well with Hermione's body, amplified greatly by the amount of work her role demanded from her already depleted energy stores. As per usual, Hermione opted instead to stop in at a Muggle pharmacy rather than turn tail for bed.

Forty minutes later, and half an hour late, Hermione made it to her office, looking more bedraggled than usual; she hadn't the time to cast her usual glamour charms to hide her sallow complexion and the persistent darkness under her eyes. The sight of her was apparently worse than she had expected as most of the office stopped to stare as she all but shambled towards her apprentice's desk.

"Morning Mrs Weasley," squeaked the uneasy looking witch. "M-mr Potter is in your office, waiting for you. Oh, and this arrived for you this morning." She indicated to the small parcel wrapped in silver cellophane. Puzzled, Hermione inspected it for a note, but there was none.

"Thank you Miranda, is that all?" Hermione desperately wanted to sit in the peace of her office, away from the many sets of eyes. Hermione was currently a hot topic of discussion as she had opted to work well into her third trimester, despite her less than smooth pregnancy. Ron had pleaded with her to go on leave much earlier, but of course there was no stopping this focused witch.

Her frightened secretary nodded absently, worry written over her obsidian face. Hermione brushed past her, desperate to get to a mirror to assess the train wreak that apparently was her face. She found Harry staring out her office window as she plonked herself into her chair.

"Morning 'Mione," Harry said before turning to face her. "Merlin's hairy neckbeard, are you feeling ok?"

"Gods, I must look a mess, everyone has been staring at me this morning. It's just a bad case of morning sickness," she fobbed as she conjured a mirror. Her face was pale with a greenish tinge, her lips almost white. The circles under her eyes had matured making her face appear gaunt. She looked terrible.

"What can I do for you Harry?" She asked before investigating the package in her hands. She could not look at him right now, for fear of his compassionately judgmental gaze.

"Well, I was just hoping that we could go over some of the briefs that you have been working on. But I really don't think I would be a good friend, nor co-worker, nor brother-in-law if I didn't suggest that maybe you should go home…" He sat down across from her, desperately trying to make eye contact. She remained fixated on the package.

"What's that you got?" He asked after her lack of reply.

"I don't actually know yet," she said as she opened it. Under the cellophane was a box, slightly smaller than a standard shoe box; the box contained a smaller black velvet jewellery box, as well as a squat dark green glass container containing some form of cream.

She inspected the smaller box first; inside was an ornate silver watch that was elegant yet demure enough for daily wear. Hermione felt her heartrate quadruple. Next she studied the oval canister; inscribed on the black label was the following; _Malfoy Remedies Co. Healing Balm #3 – Apply to affected area twice a day to banish most naturally acquired burns, bruises and other blemishes_. At the bottom of the box was a small note:

 _I hope you enjoy being the first official customer of my new business._

 _X_

Hermione felt the wave of nausea return. She scrambled past a confused Harry as she rushed to the office bathroom. She made it only in the nick of time. As she retched up what little remained in her stomach, her abdomen protesting greatly, an unpleasant sensation began in her lower body. She made to stand up, but a wetness spread in an area she had not expected for at least another month. Hermione hauled herself up but was met with an unexpected sight. Blood. From her visits with a Muggle OBGYN, she knew things were not going to plan. Hermione's heart stopped for just a moment, her mind blank, panic starting to percolate through her consciousness. Stabbing pains soon cut through her panic.

She cleaned her mess once she could bare to stand upright before making the agonising walk back to her office. Thankfully the coast was clear due to a scheduled department meeting. Hermione shuffled through the door, relieved to see that Harry had remained in her office. She had not seen him this worried in a number of years.

"Fucking hell Hermione, what is going on?!" He said, his face nearly as pale as hers.

"Harry-" she panted, the stabbing pains barely subsiding now. "Call. Ron. It's time. To go. Muggle hospital. NOW."

"Fuck!" He said, grabbing Hermione by the shoulders as she stumbled towards a chair. He sat her down before transfiguring it into a wheelchair. Extracting his mobile from his pocket he dialled the number for the joke shop. He started pacing the room as Hermione focused on her breathing and not passing out.

"George, where's Ron." Harry asked brashly. "Out to lunch? Bloody git. How long 'til he's back?" Harry's expression becoming more stressed by the moment.

"Look mate, it appears that Hermione's go-time has come early and things don't seem to be going as smooth as it did with Ginny. I have to take her to her Muggle hospital. Can you please find Ron and tell him to get his arse there ASAP. Thanks mate."

Harry turned to look at his friend. Hermione's knuckles where bone white from the vice like grip she had on the arms of her wheeled chair. Her heart was racing, her pulse pounding in her ears. She could hear the commotion of her co-workers filing back to their desks. Harry made one more phone call, arranging for an ambulance to meet them outside of the bookstore next to the Leaky Cauldron.

"H-Harry," She said weakly, between grimaces. "P-please. Don't want. Them. To see."

He placed his warm hand over her frightfully cold one, his determined emerald eyes locking with hers. He cast a glamour charm over her and the chair; it would make those in sight of Hermione compelled to look away from her and stay out of their path. It worked well; they made it to the Floo Foyer with no interruptions. One squished Floo trip later, the duo exited the thankfully empty pub. Hannah Abbot-Longbottom did cast a quizzical glance towards them as Harry removed his spell, but they did not have time to stop for a chat.

The ambulance arrived just as they rolled to a stop in front of the bookstore. The paramedics were kind and had no qualms about allowing Harry to ride with Hermione to the hospital. However when Hermione stood, Harry noticed that the seat of her skirt was covered with blood. She once again nearly collapsed with this sudden change in position. Harry's mind was racing, the trip to the hospital a blur.

Harry followed Hermione's gurney numbly as she was rushed into a ward, a frazzled young doctor did her initial assessment. Hermione was poked, prodded and had blood taken. Soon her OBGYN made an appearance. Hermione had her medical affairs well prepared, as was in her nature. But nature itself is unpredictable, and the doctors were asking a lot of questions. It was hard for Harry to keep up, but he did his best. Hermione was not in the position to stay acutely focused. The call was soon made for an emergency caesarean.

As the orderly was wheeling Hermione out of the door, a shock of red hair appeared. Ron had made it in the nick of time.

"Ron," Hermione slurred, her pain medication was starting to kick in.

"'Mione! I am so sorry! George found me as soon as he could. The blasted cab-driver couldn't find the right entrance." He grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly. He placed a kiss on her clammy forehead before the orderly cleared his throat. "I-I'll see you in a bit love," he said as he reached the limits of public access.

Ron wandered back down the hall to where Harry sat on a lumpy, taupe vinyl couch in the beige-on-bone waiting area. Ron much preferred the chaotic colours of St Mungo's, and was not completely sold on Hermione's choice of this cold, emotionally sterile place to help her deliver their child.

"Mum and Dad are on their way," mumbled Ron, "Ginny too, I think. George offered to look after James and baby Al." He wrung his hands before sitting across from his best friend.

"You still have to out-do me, don't ya mate?" Harry said with a weary jovial tone. "James and Albus both arrived with no hassles; but come time for your first born, you gotta make sure it's a thrilling time."

"I-uh. What?" Ron blinked at Harry, not able to process what he was saying. Harry figured now was not the time for humour. Instead he clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Hermione is tough, we know that better than anyone else. Everything will be alright mate." He said, hoping that he spoke the truth. Divination had never been his strength.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Hey everyone!  
Firstly, as always, thanks so much for all the favourites/follows/reviews. It really does bring a smile to my face each and every time.  
Secondly I AM SO FREAKING SORRY for the huuuuge delay in up dating... Life has seriously screwed with how I wish to live my life lately... Adulting is hard work!  
So this is a short chapter but it is rather important. I have more to come! So I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think.

Oh and for those of you that have read Cursed Child; clearly this is now technically AU, but I have my... opinions... about what was presented in that so I'm going to stick with my original idea. (OMG ASTORIA!?)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my love for Dramonie!

* * *

 **2006**

Hermione had managed to find some semblance of a normal routine now that her maternity leave had finished, diving back into her busy schedule. Ron was also leading a hectic life now that Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes had expanded to the Australasian market, having to make longer business trips more frequently. Hermione was infinitely grateful that she had Ginny, as well as the senior Weasleys and her own parents when needed, at her disposal to look after Rose while she worked. Hermione was aware that not many women had such a sweet deal.

Yet there were many nights that Hermione and her small child would sit together at night with Ron away on another business trip. It was starting to eat away at her psyche. Hermione would often linger long enough when picking Rose up from Harry and Ginny's house in Godric's Hollow that they would invite her to stay for dinner. Ginny had inherited her mother's wonderful cooking skills and Hermione barely had the energy to muster a cup of tea some nights after getting Rose down for the night.

Harry and Ginny were thrilled to be so involved in their young niece's life, but they would often discuss their concerns for Hermione with her long hours and Ron's long absences. Ginny was lonely enough, even with her two young sons, when Harry was on assignment for two nights; she could not bear to fathom being in Hermione's position with Ron gone for sometimes two weeks at a time. Ginny loved her brother, but he could be a right git sometimes. She had a mind to sit George down and discuss sharing the load of international trips, but she knew that he wouldn't really listen. Unless she set their mum on him…

One such night as Hermione was gathering a dosing Rose into her carrier, Ginny cornered her sister-in-law over a cup of tea whilst Harry was attempting to get James and Albus to sleep.

"'Mione, how are you doing love?" Ginny asked, straight to the point.

"I-I'm doing fine Gin," Hermione replied, bemused by her friend's directness.

"Are you coping ok with Ron being away so much?" Ginny charged forward, no holding back now.

Ginny could see the cogs ticking away in her friend's head. She knew Hermione was too brave to freely admit any issues, but Ginny hoped she would at least speak openly when probed.

"Uhh, yes. Of course…" She noticed Ginny's face darken, sniffing out Hermione's apprehension. "Really, its fine. I mean, I have you and Harry, Molly and Arthur and my mum and dad."

"I know hun, we all support you one hundred percent in continuing to do what you do. But I, well we – Harry and me – we are a bit worried. You don't get lonely at home?" She probed further.

Hermione felt her resistence falter. She was longing to discuss her concerns about her near absent husband and worries that he was missing too much of the mile stones of their young daughter's development. Gnawing on her bottom lip she tried to diplomatically share with her friend and sister-in-law.

"No. Not really. Well, uh... Sometimes." She admitted sheepishly, "I do miss having someone to chat to first thing in the morning, and before going to sleep…. But it's only temporary. I mean we have our family now, Ron will take a step back from business so he can actually spend time with Rose before she heads to Hogwarts." She chuckled weakly at her last comment.

Deep down Hermione was concerned that Ron was too stubborn to notice how little time he spent with his family, that he would barely know his own daughter. She had long felt like a part-time wife. But adding Rose into the mix, if he didn't change his focus, they would be heading down the path to becoming his part-time family. But she had to keep up a brave front. Surely Ron would come to his senses soon. Right?


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** So I had a very important point brought to my attention: yes this fic does leave things hanging to be pondered. It is intentional, but I do apologise if it gives any of my lovely readers whip-lash or leaves you wanting. Basically not everything is necessarily going to be dealt with there and then, while some smaller topics may not be addressed. Like in life, things do get swept up and occasionally lost in the charging, unforgiving river of time. I really do hope y'all can forgive me and that you enjoy the story regardless.

Disclaimer: _Come on_ , I am not _that_ inventive. Kudos to the amazing JK for bringing these characters into our lives.

* * *

 **2006**

Hermione glanced at the dainty silver watch on her wrist, momentarily distracted as the tiny rubies glinted in the light pouring in from the kitchen. She sat with arms folded on the edge of the red velvet love seat waiting not-so-patiently.

He was late, again. She checked her phone for any messages. None. Of course. She was becoming well and truly pissed.

She was not the typical wife; she did not really give too much of a damn if Ron forgot their anniversary or didn't plan a date for Valentine's day or anything like that (she had never been overly fond of Valentine's day) BUT when he did make the effort to be in the country for something such as their anniversary and agree to a time for them to celebrate, it really ground Hermione's gears when he could not be bothered to be on time.

Ron made her feel like everything she did was nowhere near as important as the success of his business. Not that she had any hard feelings towards his success; quite the opposite. She just wished that she received some praise or support for all the good she did for the Ministry, or even for keeping her shit together whilst being successful and raising their daughter mostly alone. She was worried that he felt that his financial success could be directly translated to love and affection. Emotions do not work like that.

The clock in the foyer chimed six o'clock. He was half an hour late already. She sighed, picking up her novel once more. The door slammed open, revealing Hermione's red headed husband before she finished her paragraph. Trying not to allow her rage to be visible, she turned to the hall to see him skulking towards her, bearing a sheepish grin and a bouquet of tulips. She felt her boiling blood settle into the pit of her stomach. She felt bad for getting so angry.

"Sorry 'Mione, George and I got caught up with a new formulation for Exploding Ink." His excuse entirely fictional, for fear of an Exploding Hermione. He hoped that he was indeed sober enough for her to believe him. He had actually been having drinks with a few of the Gryffindor blokes. No Harry of course, he went straight home to help Ginny with their sons and Rose.

"It's ok Ron, let's just get going," she smiled as she conjured a vase for the flowers before ushering him out the door. Ron cheered internally.

The two walked hand-in-hand to their favourite Tapas bar a few streets away. It was a pleasant walk, Hermione was appreciative of the extra talkative mood Ron appeared to be in tonight. She often felt he was becoming more and more moody when at home. It was a nice change to have some light hearted fun together.

The evening remained jovial, the young couple consuming copious amounts of sangria and potentially too little food. Ron's hand found its way under the hem of his wife's skirt reaching the lace of her panties. Blushing, Hermione batted half-heartedly at her husband's arm. Deep down she revealed at the touch; it had been so long they had connected like this. She was married to one of her two best friends, but still Hermione felt that their love was truly anything more than platonic. Sex, for them, was so infrequent it felt a chore to Hermione at times. But not tonight, Ron was touching her like they had just met at this bar. She enjoyed it so much, role play or not, she was more hot for him tonight than she could remember being in a long time.

Ron was too drunk for this, he knew he would attract attention. He needed to get Hermione home. Throwing a fist full of muggle money on the table, inadvertently giving their bus boy a handsome tip, Ron dragged Hermione into the alley way beside the restaurant. Nuzzling her ear lobe, Ron apparated them to their bedroom.

Pinning her against the wall, Ron continued to devour the exposed flesh of his wife with his lips, tongue and teeth. Her knees had turned to jelly. He began removing her clothes as she tried to reciprocate. Growling, Ron pinned her hands above her head; he was in control tonight, like most nights they made love. Hermione internally fumed at this; unsurprisingly she preferred to take the lead. But she didn't want to ruin the mood, she was desperate to be touched. It had been too long. In fact the last time she had been at this level of inebriation in a situation like this she had not been sharing the experience with Ron…

' _No Hermione! Don't think about that, about_ him. _Focus!'_ She thought, mentally slapping herself. Centring herself again, Hermione allowed herself to be consumed with and by Ron, letting him have his way with her. Despite his dominating role, Ron was a gentle lover. Sometimes too gentle. Hermione did crave to spice things up somewhat, but was often not met with the same enthusiasm from her husband.

Looking down at Ron's flushed face as she straddled his lean pale hips, dopey grin on his face, Hermione felt safe, wanted. She guided his hand from her left breast, placing it on her swollen clit; he needed guiding occasionally. As Ron caught on to her needs, the rhythm of her hips faltered, then gained speed. She was close, as was he. She stared down at him again, without actually seeing him. As she rode his cock to their near-synchronised climax, her vision was clouded by visions of pale, pale hair and steely grey eyes.

Ashamed, yet aroused, Hermione rolled off of a well and truly spent Ron to over analyse what her mind had just retrieved from a well-hidden vault of her memory. Ron's snores started, providing a soundtrack as her busy mind mulled this over. Why is it that one night of delirious misadventure could haunt her and taunt her so?

Her wrist suddenly felt heavy as she noticed the watch she was still wearing. A gift from _him_. But nothing had happened between them after that one night. They were friends now. Just friends. She slid out of bed, heading to the bathroom where she examined her svelte, curvaceous naked frame in the full length mirror. Her creamy skin held firm to her youth, a benefit of living in a notoriously dreary country. Her mostly flat stomach remarkably blemish free, despite being a mother and having a caesarean to boot. That she also attributed to _him_. Or at least the other half of the gift he bestowed upon her after their chance meeting almost a year ago now. Her cheeks flushed. Ron had not even asked about the watch, despite the fact she wore it almost every day. He really could be a self-involved dolt some, if not most, of the time.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Please be patient with me, there is Dramonie coming soooooooon!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, no one.

* * *

 **2006**

Astoria Malfoy was bored. She was between roles so there was little else to potter around her home. Well, her husband's home. Most people would be elated to have the amount of free time she had right now, but it made Astoria anxious. Anxious and bored. Neither sat well with this witch. Not even a new born was enough to distract her from the monotony. Scorpius was an incredibly low-maintenance infant. Plus she had Mimi to help her out.

As much as she hated a majority of the principles she had been brought up with, Astoria was pleased that Draco had been happy to hire a House-elf. Astoria was frightfully bad when it came to most things domestic. Not that Draco was much better; but that was mainly thanks to the amount of time he spent in his study pouring over ancient texts, or down in his alchemy lab concocting his latest invention.

She sighed, it was nearing noon. Surely her husband would surface soon. Astoria resumed her reading, trying to fill the time. She flicked through the pages, only half reading the words in front of her, until the story took a very interesting, erotic turn. This gave her an idea of something that would entertain her.

"Astoria, I was thinking that we could catch a movie later…" Draco trailed off as he entered his chambers, the sight of his wife clad in only wisps of green silk, with more binding her hands to either side of their four poster bed. "Salazar's ghost Astoria, what are you playing at?"

"Baby, I'm in trouble." She cooed as he approached the bed wearily, "real, big, bad trouble."

"You see, I have this itch," she continued. "And it's so incredibly… frustrating." She slithered a sculpted porcelain leg off of the bed to nudge against her prize that was rising to attention in her husband's trousers, making his breath hitch.

"As you can see, I am currently in no position to take care of my… desires," she purred. Draco mounted the bed, shirt already forgotten, trousers trailing in his wake. His wife, albeit unpredictable at times, was quite the seductress.

"Fuck, Astoria. You are fucking beautiful." He said to the shell of her ear as he trailed his tongue towards her beckoning nipple, already hard at his touch. "With distractions like this I swear there will be days where I can't even remember my own name."

"Oh don't worry my darling, I will remind you," she hummed in reply.

With his wife's arms still bound, Draco took that as a challenge he was all too ready to rise to. Whilst one hand remained toying with Astoria's supple breast, the other slid between her parted thighs, to where heat was radiating. Astoria's eyes fluttered in anticipation. But Draco wasn't ready to give into her temptation just yet. Instead he grabbed a handful of ashen locks, forcing her head back, exposing her neck to him. He trailed his lips from her collar bone to chin, her back arching and nipples becoming harder still in response.

"Oh, Draco," cooed his quivering wife as he removed his boxers, revealing his impressive erection. She sighed in appreciation. He kneeled before her, sliding her legs over his, giving him a fantastic view of all of her. Her dilated pupils begged for him to enter her, to fill her entirely. But she also became wetter with each moment of deliberate hesitation.

Draco ran his hands along the curve of Astoria's hourglass figure, stopping at her hips to dig his nails into her flesh the way she liked. Her chest heaved as she moaned, causing her hips to thrust and her legs to widen further. Draco's erection throbbed almost painfully, but he wanted it this way. He was a glutton for the sweet suffering brought about by prolonged foreplay, especially at his expense.

"I love it when you look at me like a delicacy you want to devour," Astoria whispered, voice thick with longing. To Draco, Astoria certainly was a delicacy; a refreshing yet appropriate match for him. There was still a forbidden fruit for which he hungered for. But now was not the time for thinking about _her_. He needed to re-centre, refocus on who laid poised in front of him; the woman he was married to.

His hand found the hair at the base of Astoria's head once more, yanking more forcefully on it this time, as he slid two of his long, slender fingers inside of his wife. His efforts were met by a barely intelligible string of expletives intermixed with his name. He added a third finger and Astoria's eyes rolled back, her mouth open in surprise.

Starting slowly, and still with a firm grip on her hair, Draco slid his fingers slowly out of her. She whimpered in frustration, but he astutely refilled her with his digits, angling them towards his target. He sped his actions, then slowed them. Again he sped up. Then just as she was about to reach her climax, Draco slowed once more.

"Fuck. Oh, Draco. I need you. I need you inside me." Astoria pled, panting. He slid himself into her warm slickness, finally surrendering to their mutual desires. Again he started slow, allowing her to adjust to his size. He was already so primed, but it would still be a while off before he came to his climax. He liked to enjoy the journey.

"Faster! Oh Draco, faster!" Astoria begged, her legs wrapping around his hips, forcing his generous length even deeper into herself. "Baby, I want you to fuck me hard, so hard. I want to be bruised inside and out."

Draco's mind faltered at the request; it was the first time she had asked this of him sober. He had always preferred to be the masochistic one in sexual endeavors, as surprising as that was for most of the women he had bedded, Astoria included. Most, apart from one.

"Fuck, Astoria. Oh, fucking hell," he moaned, mentally slapping himself for the moment of hesitation. He caught her hips in a vice-like grip ensuring he filled her, over and over, to the absolute hilt. He came moments after her. She magically detangled herself from her silken bonds and he collapsed beside her. The bruises were already forming on her hips, Astoria trailed her fingers over the marks he left, hissing with pleasure at the sting. He rolled away from her, needing a shower; to have some time to repent for the marks he left on his wife, and for where his mind had wandered to.

In the warm spray of the large steam shower, Draco sat with his head in his knees. Mournfully he glared his left forearm and the ugly black mark that haunted his dreams. The once clear symbol was now distorted by ripples of scar tissue. He hated it. Hated himself for having it. Hated that there was no way to rid himself of it. Like many times before, he summoned a razor blade, slicing into the flesh that taunted him. He watched as the blood trailed down his arm, mixing with the water that dulled the pain of his guilt, a small fraction at a time.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** So I keep thinking of new things and then getting writers block. FML. I hope this satisfies you for now... Working on more!

Disclaimer: I am only a puppet to the glorious creation of JKR.

* * *

 **2006**

Draco Malfoy had locked himself in his basement laboratory for the better part of a week, much to Astoria's disdain. Since the day that she had surprised him in their bed, Draco had been especially gentle with his wife, barely touching her some days. He had made love to her one night, but it had been slow and attentive to her pleasure, not fast, hot and rough; how she wanted to be fucked.

What Astoria did not know was that the act of dominating her is such a way had freed the deeply detested memories her husband struggled with, daily, to keep buried. Seeing his wife's bruises reminded Draco of the atrocities that had been committed towards mostly female prisoners of war in the very house that Draco called home. He was glad that Potter never got wind of just how horrific the Death Eaters could be; there would have been no way he would ever have helped his family be pardoned for their crimes.

Draco had never wanted to take part in such abhorrent activities. Unfortunately he did not have a choice. It was all part of the initiation. Defile or be exiled. He had watched shackled, scared and starved Muggles, Muggle-borns and Muggle sympathisers be stripped naked as a circle of Death Eaters, mostly males, cackled and jeered. The latest recruit would then have their way with the captive in whatever way they desired, employing various torture devices and spells to extend the terror. For the women, this generally ended with rape as the main course, some even stooping as far as using the Cruciatus Curse simultaneously. Crabbe had favoured this but was never the same after the event. Draco had wondered if he had caught himself in the shockwave of the spell.

When Draco's day loomed near, he had begged his father to place him under Imperius Curse so that he did not have to be aware of his actions. His family's safely desperately relied on their ever slipping position within the Dark Lord's ranks and Draco knew that resistance was futile. His father feared that to do as his son pleaded would be too great a risk, with the possibility that one of the senior Death Eaters would identify the spell's influence. Draco, instead, was to face the task stone cold sober. His saving grace in this mess of a situation was his well-honed ability to compartmentalise his emotions, shutting down any empathetic involvement. A skill he had developed during years of tyrannical lectures from his father and a tool he had become all too accustomed to relying on during these dark years. But with every experience Draco felt more distant and disconnected from the person he could have been.

Now, however, Draco once again had reasons to engage with his emotions. This subsequently forced him to live with these deplorable memories, struggling daily to stay afloat in a river of guilt. It was exhausting at times, unbearable at others. Shame fuelled his desire to be unlike his father, to learn more about the human condition beset upon his Muggle and Magical kin. He chose to use his magical prowess to benefit his peers even in the most benign of ways. Self-condemnation drove him to mar the physical reminder of misguided transgressions, tearing at his skin with sharp objects.

His current quandary was the stubborn blemish; he had tried the current extent of his potions, lotions and magic notions yet still the ugly skull leered at him. He wanted it gone, even if it meant cutting his skin off, strip by strip. But he feared it would still reappear; the dark magic that had created it was secretive, causing no end of aggravation for Draco. He hoped that his latest development would help. Not exactly a removal, but a magically enriched pigment that was so far covering the test patch. At least he was using his self-flagellation for research and not simply masochistic indulgence.

 _Later that day_

Draco traipsed the alleyways of Edenborough, taking unfamiliar, but well researched, twists and turns. He finally found what he was looking for. At the end of a grimy, non-descript cul-de-sac was a derelict terrace house. Carved into the otherwise non-descript wood was the time and weather wizened face of the Crone. Draco stoked the wooden nose of the ornately carved face, turning her leer into a wicked grin before the door split in too, allowing Draco passage into a dimly lit foyer.

The external façade gave no hints at what it contained. Draco marvelled at the fine dark wood panels and blood red fabrics that surrounded him. Behind an ivory coloured marble counter stood a pale woman wearing a red satin business dress accentuated by an intricate black leather harness and over-skirt ensemble. She also wore a very bored expression, her angular face showing just how many fucks she did not give.

"Do you 'ave an appoin'ment?" She said in a silky Eastern European accent, raising an eyebrow as Draco's eyes lingered at her outfit too long for her liking. She cleared her throat pointedly before continuing. "Sir Salvatore does not enjoy being disturbed carelessly."

"I-uh-yes. Malfoy, Draco. I have an eleven o'clock. Did my owl deliver the documents?" Draco faltered at first. Vampires had always had a way of making him feel like the little boy who was ushered into his bedroom when his father was entertaining the undead.

Cocking her eyebrow again, the vampire cast her eyes at the parchment in front of her for the briefest of seconds before confirming that all was set. Draco perched on the nearest stately chair awaiting the infamous Francesco Salvatore, a master of flesh, blood, and ink. He fished into his leather satchel, admiring the range of coloured liquids in small glass vials. He hoped that the final product would live up to his expectations.

Draco did not have to wait long before a new pale face was staring him down. This one supported its scowling mouth on a very well chiselled jaw and also sported a proud Roman nose. Although he would have barely stood as tall as Draco's chin, a testament to his perpetual young adulthood, he was a formidable creature. Draco extended his hand in greeting, to which Francesco extended his hand bearing a large onyx ring. Taking the hint, Draco kissed the ring and was rewarded with a wide, almost animalistic grin from the wearer of said ring. Enlarged, razor sharp, canine teeth were incredibly evident amongst the vampire's exposed dentition.

Francesco escorted Draco into his studio, the documents he had owled to him laid out carefully with some other unfamiliar pages. Draco handed the vials to the Francesco before inspecting the parchment closer.

"Please, do take your time. Tell me what you like, but if you like none, then also tell me that. I want you to be happy with the final product. Do not be afraid to tell me what, exactly, you want." The vampire crooned, his voice as soft as silk, as deadly as sharpened steel. The hairs on the back of Draco's neck were at full mast, but he tried to calm his addled nerves. Vampire pheromones were hard to acclimatise to.

One particular parchment held Draco's interest from the moment he laid eyes upon it; a slender, twisting, maned dragon spreading its dark green wings, resting on its haunches as its lion like tail circled once over the serpentine elongated rump.

"This one," Draco said resolutely. He turned to the undead man who was studying the magically enhanced ink that Draco had formulated. "I am ready. Let's get this happening."

Francesco was amused by Draco's decisiveness. It did bode well for a permanent addition to one's body. Before long, Francesco had Draco by the wrist as he went to work transposing his sketch onto Draco's left forearm, marvelling at how the pre-existing brand slowly melted away, responding to the magic of Draco's ink. He did a fantastic job, considering the uneven canvass. But this is why Draco tracked him down. His skills were well known, and with over two centuries of experience, Draco felt Francesco could be trusted to produce an agreeable creation.

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 **A/N:** Reviews and follows make me incredibly happy ;)


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